


So Bad

by DemonDean10



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Friendship, Getting Back Together, Graphic Violence, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Making Up, Multi, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Nothing too ugly, but loads of pain too, but nothing graphic, kidnappings, loads of cuddling here floks, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 23:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19283434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonDean10/pseuds/DemonDean10
Summary: It's 1979 and John and Paul are estranged. But the two are reunited in the worst possible way when the two of them are kidnapped for ransom. As their wives and old bandmates search the earth for them, the two will have to protect each other and face many truths about each other and themselves.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> yissssss i love paaaiiinnnnnn. 
> 
> i was inspired by an episode of the mentalist (great show, watch it). so yes, there's violence but nothing tooooo bad. Still, watch out. 
> 
> I hope you like it. 8D

**London**

 

“See ya tomorrow, Paul!” Shouted Denny Laine as he left the studio. It was late at night and everyone else had gone home, including Linda. 

 

But Paul was full of energy and he felt the need to stay and finish the song he was working on. He waved distractedly at Denny and picked up his pencil, resting his paper on the piano lid. 

 

It was a few minutes later that he heard the door open and a young voice call out, “Mr. McCartney?”

 

Not looking up from his writing, he asked, “Yeah?”

 

The voice got closer, “Sorry, sir. Just thought you might like a cuppa.”

 

This managed to turn him around. Paul put down his pencil and smiled, “Oh, thank you.” He said and gladly accepted the cup of tea. He stared up at the man, “I haven’t seen you around before, what’s your name?”

 

The stranger looked red, “Just got hired this week. I’m Larry.”

 

Paul offered a warm hand, “Nice to meet you, Larry.” After shaking the lad’s hand, he turned back to the piano with his tea.

 

Larry’s voice interrupted him again, “Is that John Lennon, sir?”

 

Paul’s head snapped up to a picture on the far wall of him and John, around ‘67, smiling in Abbey Road. He cleared his throat, “...yes, that’s him.” He looked back down.

 

“Are you ever gonna work with him again?” Said Larry.

 

Paul didn’t stop his writing, “Nope.” He said cooly.

 

But Larry didn’t get the hint, “Why not?” He asked.

 

Paul sighed and turned around, “Larry.” He said, “I don’t want to be rude, but I have to finish this song.”

 

The man looked down, “Right, sorry, sir.” He started to walk away, “Have a good night.”

 

Paul turned away, “Goodnight, Larry.”

 

Once he heard the door close after the new man, the ex-Beatle grabbed the cup and took a large gulp from it. Immediately, he grimaced. It tasted awful! Rolling his eyes, Paul got back to work. 

 

However, a few minutes later he was finding it hard to concentrate on the words in front of him. His vision was getting blurry and he felt faint. He shook his head but it only made him groan. Carefully, Paul stood up and moved away from the piano but he found himself falling face down into the guitar rack. He briefly registered his Rickenbacker wood-coloured bass falling from its perch and making an ugly sound as it hit the floor. Paul closed his eyes and knew no more. 

 

The studio door opened and a shadow fell over him. 

 

They had him.

 

* * *

 

**New York**

 

“That’s a nice necklace, John.” Said George Martin, pointing with his fork at the thin golden chain that rested against the hollow of John’s throat. He was having breakfast with the singer, an impromptu affair after he’d bumped into the man two nights before.

 

John put down his water, “Yeah, mother gave it to me recently.”

 

George Martin hummed. There was a brief silence, then, “You know...I’m working with Paul at the moment.”

 

John looked around the restaurant and fixed his eyes on the far left, “Have you seen the koi fish? They’re  _ adorable _ .”

 

George sighed, “John.”

 

John wasn’t stopping, “Really. Best of New York, look the have a plaque-”

 

“John.” Said George Martin more firmly. 

 

The younger man turned to him with a startled look, “Sorry, what?”

 

The producer shrugged, “No interest in going back to the studio, have you?”

 

John shook his head, “Nope.” He said with a bland smile. 

 

“Really?” Insisted Martin, “I don’t believe that.”

 

John wasn’t look at him, “That’s not my problem.”

 

The older man gaped, “You can’t possibly be happy.”

 

John slammed his spoon down, making small droplet of soup stain the table cloth. “Look,” He started, “If Paul sent you, you can tell him to fuck off.”

 

“He didn’t send me.” Responded George immediately.

 

The other man scoffed and raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

 

George shook his head, “I thought things were better between you two.”

 

“Oh please.” Laughed John, “ _ Things  _ were never fixed. He’s an asshole.” The americanism sounded cruel in his mouth.

 

“Is that fair?” Asked Martin with a look of reprimand. 

 

“I don’t care.” Said John and pushed his chair back, “Now, excuse me. I need a smoke.” 

 

George raised a hand, “Wait, John-”

 

He was ignored. John walked away from the table without looking back and went through the back door into an alley. It was early morning in New York and the sky was cloudy today, leaving the alley with little light. 

 

John grumbled at George Martin and took out a cigarette. 

 

A man appeared from down the alley, looking even older than George Martin. He looked dirty and tired, his clothes worn and his beard long. He stumbled towards John, “Please, sir...some money for food. Please, sir.” 

 

John dug into his pocket and got out a few bills. Yoko gave him a large allowance and he always had large bills to spare. He gave the man a couple twenties. Half-joking, he said, “Don’t buy drugs.”

 

“No, sir. Bless you, sir.” The man spoke as he retreated, but he stumbled and fell onto his back. 

 

John hurried to help him up, “Are you alright?”

 

“A bad leg, sir. From the war.” The man explained sadly. 

 

John hummed in understanding, pitying the man. “Well, take care, alright?” He put down his cigarette and put it out, then started to walk towards the restaurant’s entrance. 

 

“No, you should.” The man said, his voice no longer sounding weak and tired. 

 

There was no warning before the singer felt a large weight on his back and he yelped. A sharp pain resonated on his neck as a needle was harshly jammed into it. 

 

John fell onto the harsh pavement and he gasped in pain as he hit his head. In no time he was out of consciousness.

 

* * *

 

**Cavendish**

 

Linda McCartney sighed as she saw that her husband wasn’t in his music room. He hadn’t been in bed either. It was clear to her that he had once again stayed the night at the studio. 

 

She walked down to the kitchen and saw that Heather was in the living room watching the television. “Couldn’t sleep, honey?” Linda asked. 

 

Heather just shook her head. She was a quiet child and in the midst of adolescence. 

 

Before entering the kitchen, Linda grabbed the post from the entrance floor and started to go over it. Few things actually arrived into Cavendish, especially considering they spent most of their time in Scotland and not London. Everything seemed normal, letters about business and some from friends, but then she found a yellow-ish envelope with no return address.

 

Walking into the kitchen, she ripped it open from the side and let out a surprised sound as a gold ring fell out. ”What the…” She muttered. Linda looked at it and saw that it was well taken care of, but certainly not new. In fact, it looked very familiar. Frowning, she took out the letter inside the envelope and started to read. 

 

A few seconds later, Heather McCartney jumped from her place on the couch as she heard her mother let out a horrified scream.

 

* * *

 

**The Dakota**

 

It was getting late in New York City, but Yoko Ono was still on the phone. She was talking with some businessmen from Hong Kong, making deals and increasing her (and John’s) money. 

 

One of her assistants walked in holding a tattered envelope and he said, “This just arrived for you, m’am.” He put it down at her desk next to some papers.

 

She just nodded at him and kept on talking with the man. 

 

It was half an hour later when she could finally hang up on him, and another half hour before she noticed the envelope again. Frowning at the lack of return address, she picked it up and heard a small jiggle coming from inside. Yoko grabbed her letter opened and took out the paper after ripping it open. The woman gasped and dropped the note. 

 

Slowly, she tilted the envelope and let its contents spill into her hand. There laid the thin golden necklace she’d gifted her husband, the chain broken.

 

* * *

 

**Friar Park**

 

George Harrison was happily relaxing on a sofa while playing a simple tune on his ukelele. Well, simple for him. Olivia was sitting at one of their ornate tables, going over the post. It was usually from fans and he trusted her judgement on which letters were the ones he ought to answer. 

 

“Oh, look.” She said after many minutes of silence. 

 

George turned his head to see her holding up a silver bracelet. “Huh.” He said as he squinted at it, “Paul used to have one just like it.” His mind couldn’t help but connect the two, Paul always wore that thing. George suspected John had gifted it to him, but it had never been confirmed. He closed his eyes and kept them shut until he heard a clatter come from the table’s direction. He snapped up, “Olivia?”

 

There was no response and so he sat up to look at her. She was staring at a paper in utter shock, her expression distressed. 

 

George stood up and went to her, “Olivia?” He asked again in concern. 

 

She looked up at him with sorrowful eyes. 

 

He felt his heart drop. “Olivia...what’s wrong?”

 

* * *

 

**Monte Carlo**

 

Ringo Starr was having the time of his life at this beach party. He was on his way to being drunk and was currently resting to the side of the pool, the sun caressing his face. 

 

There was laughter all around him with drinks being passed around like water. 

 

A waiter clearing his throat to the let of him distracted the drummer from his daydreaming. “A package for Ringo Starr.” The young man said. 

 

Ringo sighed but dutifully raised a hand, “That’s me.”

 

A small box with an envelope pasted to it was dropped into his hand. Putting the letter to the side, Ringo opened the box giddily but frowned when a pair of round sunglasses fell into his hand. They reminded him of something John would wear. They had to be from a fan, but how had they figured out he was hiding out in a Monte Carlo hotel? Still, he put them up for a laugh and saw that they had a prescription. The drummer groaned, it would surely give him a headache soon.

 

He reached for the letter and ripped it open, reading it as best as he could with the huge prescription. In an instant, he was sitting up and ripping the things from his face. Ringo reread the letter and let out a distressed sound. 

 

All the other people at the party saw was Ringo Starr running into the hotel with a pair of sunglasses held tightly in his hand. 

 

* * *

 

**Unknown**

 

Paul McCarney awoke with a headache. He let out a soft groan and furrowed his brow, feeling sore all over. His right arm especially felt like it was on fire.

 

He blinked a few times in the low light and saw that he was laying down in a dirty mattress. He hissed as he moved and noticed that his hands were being tightly held together by zip ties, making his wrists turn red.

 

Carefully, he sat up and saw that he appeared to be in a dusty cellar with floorboards above him. The singer was lost. “What the fuck?” He muttered. He shivered as a cold breeze enveloped him, his thin shirt doing nothing to protect him.

 

A quiet moan from behind him made him jump and he turned his head immediately. There was a figure in white laying further down the mattress, long hair covering most of his face. But his mouth and chin were visible, and Paul would recognize him anywhere. 

 

“John? John!” Said Paul as he crawled to his old friend. He grabbed a hold of his shoulder and shook him, “John!”

 

The older man groaned and turned his head so that his hair moved to reveal his face. 

 

Paul gasped as he saw a large purple bruise covering the side of his face, with a couple of small cuts going along with it. “Bloody hell…”

 

John’s eyes blinked open and he was quiet for a few moments. He squinted upwards until his eyes found the other man. “Pa...Paul?” He asked weakly.

 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Answered the younger man. 

 

John smacked his lips a few times then spoke up, “Where am I? I, I was at a restaurant…” He grimaced due to his aching head. 

 

Paul sighed, “I don’t know, I just woke up. I was at the studio in London.”

 

John stared at the floorboards above him, “I was in New York.”

 

Carefully, Paul helped him sit up and saw that his hands were zip tied together as well. The older man was wearing more appropriate clothing, a warm coat and a long scarf.

 

In silence, the two of them pulled at the zip ties and tried to bite them, but nothing happened. 

 

Finally, John put his wrists down and sighed in anguish. “So, we were kidnapped.”

 

Paul leaned back against the cold brick wall and bit down a ‘burr.’ “But why?”

 

John glared at him, “How am I supposed to know?”

 

Paul looked away, “I don’t know. I was just asking, calm down.”

 

“Calm down!?” Exclaimed John, “Don’t know if you noticed but we’re tied up in a damn basement with no clue of where the fuck we are!”

 

Paul shivered and rubbed his hands together, “I did notice, you twat.”

 

John’s gaze suddenly softened at the man’s bothered expression. He leaned closer, “Here, take my scarf.”

 

Paul stared for a few moments but then did as told, removing the wool scarf and, after bringing up John’s collar to cover his neck, put it on. “Ta.” He said softly. 

 

Unconsciously, the two ex-partners rested their bodies against each other. 

 

After moments of shivering and thinking, Paul spoke up in a whisper, “What’s gonna happen to us, Johnny?”

 

The older man sighed and rested his head in Paul’s shoulder, “I don’t know, Macca. I don’t know.”

 

Paul turned his face and buried it in the other man’s soft hair, eager for any sort of comfort. Shyly, he reached with his tied hands for the other man’s. 

 

John took his cold hands in his and squeezed them, “We’re gonna be fine, Macca. I promise.” It was a weak promise and they both knew it. 

 

Still, Paul took comfort in his old friend’s words and was grateful. 

 

They were going to be okay. They had to be.


	2. Continue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:  
> non-consensual kissing
> 
> it gets worse for our dear McLennons...

John kept watch as a shivering Paul slept. The younger man was pale but his nose was red. John worried for him, who knows for how much longer they would be kept in the dark and cold cellar. 

 

His question was soon answered as a previously unseen hatch in the floorboards above opened and a ladder was dropped. 

 

John sat up straight and kicked at Paul for him to wake. The younger man groaned weakly but sat up as he heard footsteps. 

 

Two men came down. One young and gangly, the other old and menacing. 

 

Paul gasped, “You!” He pointed at Larry from the studio. 

 

The man smirked, “Hello, Mr.McCartney.”

 

John was giving his fiercest glare at the old man from the alleyway, “Who are you? What do you want?”

 

The old man gave him a condescending smile, “My name is Samuel, this is my nephew Larry. You two boys are going to help us, aren’t you?” His American accent was strong and northern. 

 

“Like hell.” John hissed. 

 

Samuel just laughed, then pointed at Paul. “Bring him.” He ordered and Larry moved in Paul’s direction. 

 

As Paul flinched away, John growled and tried to stand but immediately Samuel had wiped out a gun and aimed straight at his head. 

 

“Don’t try it, hippie.” He wasn’t laughing anymore. 

 

Larry grabbed Paul by the arms and dragged him upwards. The musician turned to his ex-partner and gave him a nervous look. John just kept on glaring at Samuel. 

 

Larry made Paul climb up the ladder, keeping a firm hold on his leg, and then once they were out of the cellar took him to the kitchen. 

 

They were in a cabin, they had to be. And it was cold as fuck. Paul’s shivering increased. 

 

Samuel appeared at the entrance of the door with the gun in his jeans and a roll of duct tape in his hands. 

 

Paul was thrown into a wooden chair and John’s scarf was ripped from his neck. “Look,” He started, “You don’t have to do this, I have money-”

 

“That’s the idea, pretty boy.” Samuel interrupted with a cruel leer. As Larry grabbed a small knife and snapped the zipties free, the old man grabbed his arms and started to tie them to the arms of the wooden chair. 

 

Paul gasped in pain as a million tiny splinters cut his skin. “Why us?” He asked, “Why together?”

 

“Why not? The famed Lennon & McCartney.” Larry told him as he got out a recording device from his pocket.

 

“See,” Samuel started, “We’ve sent ransom demands to four very important people. Your _lovely_ wife, that Japanese freak, and your old failures of bandmates.” He pointed at Paul’s hands, “You’ll notice your wedding ring and bracelet are gone.”

 

Paul looked down and noticed this for the first time. He growled in anger. Those were his most prized material possessions. The gifts of his true loves.

 

But before he could speak, Samuel leaned close and smirked at him, making Paul uncomfortable. “And you, pretty boy-”

 

“Don’t call me that.” Paul hissed bravely. 

 

Then yelped as Samuel took a firm hold of his hair and yanked his head backwards. “I’ll call you what I want, understood?” The old man told him fiercely, spit flying from his mouth. 

 

Paul didn’t answer at first but as the grip got stronger and his head yanked even more, he let out, “Understood.”

 

Samuel let go of his hair and caressed his cheek instead, which was so much worse. “Like I was saying,  _ pretty boy, _ you are going to help us by telling them exactly how they’re going to get the money to us.”

 

“And if I don’t?” A foolish inquiry considering the old man’s filthy hand was still resting on his cheek. 

 

And indeed, the grip turned hard and Samuel squeezed. “If you don’t,” He said in a cruel voice, “Then your little peacenik friend downstairs gets it.”

 

Remembering the gun the old man had pointed at John, Paul gave up. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

 

So with a warm smile and a harsh pat on his cheek, Samuel finally moved away. 

 

Larry replaced him and pressed record on the device, then held a wrinkled piece of paper in front of Paul. He nodded at him to read. 

 

Paul took a deep breath and started:

 

_ Linda, my wife. George...my friend. You both have received a letter letting you know that John Lennon and I have been taken. You have been warned not to call the police. _

_ You both have been asked to gather three million dollars. You have five days to do this. Tuesday night you will leave the money outside your doors and stay away. It will be collected. If you are seen... you will be disposed of.  _

_ After you and the other two do this and after the money has been counted, me and John will be returned to our rightful places. If the money is not received by the deadline…. _

 

_ Our bodies will be delivered instead. _

 

Paul was close to choking in his tears. His poor Linda…

 

Samuel spoke from behind him, making the singer jump in his bonds. “And to make sure you understand I’m not joking…” 

 

The next thing Paul knew there was a terrible pain, a fire attacking his soul, on his side. Electricity was consuming him and burning his skin. There was nothing to do but scream, Paul let out a painful shriek as his tears fell. 

 

Finally, Samuel removed the rod and Paul slumped forwards, sobbing and whimpering. 

 

“Five days.” The old man said, “Do it.”

 

Larry pressed the button to stop recording and got out the small knife to untie Paul. Once he was freed, Samuel grabbed his wrists and tied them together with duct tape this time. Paul found it impossible to speak, too busy trying to stop his tears from falling. 

 

Samuel escorted him back to where the hatch was, Paul practically limp in his arms. Just before opening the hatch, Samuel turned Paul to face him. “Thanks for that, pretty boy.” And he pushed himself against Paul, forcing his mouth over the younger man’s. 

 

Paul was too weak to fend him off and the old man forced his tongue inside his mouth, his grip on Paul’s arms bruising. The singer gasped in disgust as Samuel moved away. He vaguely registered the sound of the hatch opening before he felt himself falling. 

 

John did not expect to see his friend fall into the cellar, howling as he fell right into his injured arm. “Paul!” He was right next to him in an instant, worried as hell. He’d heard Paul screaming and had tried to reach the hatch, but it was too high. The older man kneeled next to his old friend and held him close. He glared up at where Samuel was smirking at them. “What the fuck did you do to him?” He growled.

 

“He’ll be fine.” The old man said and slammed the hatch shut then locked it. 

 

John turned to the man in his arms, “Paulie?” He asked in a small voice. 

 

Paul was panting, eyes shut in pain. He let out a groan, “They want three million.”

 

“Oh.” John said, “That isn’t too bad.”

 

“Each.” Paul opened his eyes. 

 

At John’s frown, he kept going. “They sent ransom notes to Lin, Yoko, Ringo, and George.”

 

John let out a frustrated sigh, “Well, shit.” Twelve million dollars. 

 

“Lin will pay.” Paul said. “But I, I don’t know if Ringo  _ can _ . Or if George will want to.”

 

“He’s not heartless.” John defended him. 

 

There was a silence. 

 

“Macca…” John broke it. “What did they do to you? I heard you scream.”

 

Paul had recovered some of his strength and sat up, “Nothing.” He lied. 

 

“So you just randomly screamed?” John asked sarcastically. 

 

Paul sighed, “Samuel...he used an electric rod on me.” He would not mention the horrible ‘kiss.’

 

John grew red. “WHAT!?” He yelled and grabbed Paul, “Where? Show me!”

 

Paul lifted his shirt to see a red area on his left side. Seeing John’s devastated look, he reassured, “Johnny, I’m okay. Well, starving, but okay.” He wasn’t, not at all, but he refused to say it out loud. 

 

John helped him stand up and without letting him go, helped him back to the mattress. Maybe Paul could get some rest. 

 

* * *

 

It was hours later that the hatch opened again. Larry stuck his head down and smirked at their position. Paul was sleeping with his head in John’s lap, the older man playing with his hair. 

 

“Aren’t you two a sight?” The smug man told him. 

 

John didn’t answer him, only placed a protective arm around Paul. 

 

The young man chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’m just here to deliver this.” And he threw down two loaves of bread and two water bottles that bounced dangerously off the floor. “Eat up.”

 

John frowned, “That’s it?” It had been more than a day since they had last eaten. 

 

Paul groaned slightly on his lap and blinked his eyes open, “Johnny?”

 

“Time to eat, sleeping beauty.” Larry shouted over to him. 

 

Paul sat up with a wince and saw the food, he couldn’t help the rumble of his stomach at the sight. 

 

“That’s not enough!” John kept going. 

 

Larry’s gaze turned cold, “Isn’t it?”

 

John was about to speak again but Paul placed a hand on his shoulder and his partner stopped himself. 

 

Larry smirked again, “That’s what I thought.”

 

John just growled at him. 

 

Their kidnapper just closed the hatch, not bothering to continue his teasing. 

 

Paul crawled over to their meal and brought it over to them. The bread was hard and the water freezing. 

 

As John tried to bite down on the loaf, Paul fell into a cough attack after drinking some of the cold water. He was nearly choking by the end of it, John slapping his back repeatedly. 

 

The older man was very worried, if only he could give his coat to Paul...

He needed something sharp. Ignoring Paul’s confused look, John stood up and started to pace all over, staring at the ceiling. It was twenty minutes later that he spotted a dirty and bent nail stuck to one of the floorboards above them. Perfect. It took some reach from John was able to get it off and he ran back to the mattress, giddy. 

 

Paul had his eyes closed and was breathing heavily, sweat coating his brow. John held his hands to his forehead and found the man very warm. So he got to work and started to file the nail at the zipties, taking a long time to get them to weaken enough for him to snap them away. Then he got to work on the tape holding Paul’s wrists together, stabbing at it until it could be ripped off. 

 

Paul opened his eyes and said weakly, “What are you doing?”

 

“Don’t speak.” John told him as he removed his long coat. Then he covered Paul with it, buttoning it up. Now it was him who was cold, but Paul needed it more than he did. 

 

“T-ta, Jo-ohnny.” Paul whispered and wrapped his now clothed arms around himself. 

 

“Just do your best to stay warm, okay?” John told him and leaned against him, trying to capture some warmth. He sighed and leaned his head against the concrete wall. 

 

They weren’t going to be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment if you liked


	3. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: Violence.   
> Sadness. 
> 
> also, yay i updated. Its kinda short, cause I wanted to leave it in a cliffhanger.   
> sorry.

George Harrison frantically rang the bell at the gate of Cavendish. Soon after he’d gotten the letter, he’d booked a flight to London to talk to Linda. The gate opened and he ran to the main door, which opened before he reached it to reveal Heather McCartney. 

 

The teenager looked pale and her eyes were red, but she waved him in anyway. “Did you get a letter too?” She asked as she led him to the kitchen.

 

They knew then. George nodded and held it up, “Right here.” 

 

He walked in to see Linda holding a tape recorder in hand, hair is disarray and shadows under her eyes. She offered a weak smile at him, “George, thank you for coming.”

 

He stood next to her, “Of course.” He may not be close to Paul, but he could never ignore this. He frowned down at the tape, “What is that?”

 

Linda sniffed as Heather looked on from the doorframe, hugging herself. “It arrived this morning,” the woman explained, “No return address just like the letter.”

 

George held his breath, “Have you listened to it?” 

 

She shook her head, “No.”

 

They looked at each other, knowing it was almost certain that Paul’s voice would be heard. But what would it say?

 

“May I?” George asked and held his hand out. Once he had the tape recorder, he pressed play.

 

There was a silence then the message played. Paul sounded broken as he spoke, it broke George’s heart. Five days, only five days? He’d have to fly back to Friar Park to be able to put the money at his door. But this was only about them two, so what about John? Why wasn’t John talking-

 

Paul was screaming. 

 

Linda screamed with him and Heather ran out of the kitchen and into the loo. George nearly dropped the tape but he forced himself to wait until the message ended. Once there was silence again, he let it fall to the floor and he leaned against the table, shaking all over.

 

Linda walked away, clearly looking for Heather, frantically wiping tears from her cheeks. 

 

Five days. 

 

Five days to save Paul, his friend, his brother.

 

Would it be enough time?

 

* * *

 

Paul sneezed into his elbow and then whimpered as it made his head pulse. He was hungry and had a headache due to it. John was sleeping with his head on Paul’s lap, expression bothered.

 

And if that didn’t make Paul hate their captors even more. John was always peaceful when he slept, all his worries and his angers would fade and his face would be calm. But not here in this dungeon, with minimal food and a sick friend.

 

He looked down at the bruised face of his best friend and sighed in pity. All those years spent fighting for this? He ran his hands through John’s soft hair, remembering all the times they’d laid like this years before.

 

“ _ Don’t leave me _ .” John had whispered each time.

 

“ _ Never, Johnny. _ ” Paul had answered every time.

 

Yet they had abandoned each other in the end. But not this time. They had to stick together if they were to make it through this.

 

The sound of the hatch being opened reached Paul’s ears and he shook John awake as gently as he could. The older man groaned and moaned, but he sat up when he heard the mocking laughter of Samuel and Larry.

 

Gun in hand, Samuel looked down at them with an amused smirk, “Feeling alright, boys?”

 

They glared.

 

But Samuel’s mood flipped when he spotted their freed hands. Instantly, he launched himself at John, picked the thin man up, and slammed him against the brick wall. “You did this, didn’t you!?”

 

John spat at him and got a harsh backhand in response that made his knees buckle.

 

Larry was pointing his gun directly at Paul’s head, but the man stood up anyways. “Leave him alone! I did it.” He lied.

 

“Macca,  _ don’t _ .” John called out to him and raised a hand in a stop motion.

 

Samuel didn’t look away from John; he put his gun right under his chin and made the singer look up at the ceiling. “Aww, aren’t you a brave hero?” Then, without warning, he raised him the gun and struck John in the head with the butt of it. 

 

John fell to the cold floor with a cry, dizzy and pained. He bit his lip and curled up as Samuel started to kick him. He refused so scream but  _shit_ , it hurt. 

 

Paul ran to them and tried to shove Samuel, but Larry caught him by the hair and threw him against a wall, holding him there. “Stop!” Paul screamed as Samuel kicked John in the face, “ _ Please _ , stop hurting him!” He continued to beg as his partner was assaulted, struggling viciously in Larry’s hold.

 

Finally, Samuel stopped his attack and spat at John, the small impact being enough to make the man flinch. “I’ll be leaving your wife in dark for a little bit longer, then.” If the little shit wanted to act up, then his wife wouldn’t be told how to pay the ransom. 

 

Larry let go of Paul and the man ran to John’s side, covering him from Samuel’s gaze. His glare didn’t waver as his captor rested the barrel of the gun on his chin and made him look up at him.  

 

Samuel smirked, “Oh, the fun I’m gonna have with you later.” And he was gone.

 

Paul stared after him, eyes slightly widened. He had no doubt about what the man meant by ‘fun.’ And what could Paul do to stop him, if he threatened John again? If he hurt him again? Paul would submit to anything to protect John.

 

Speaking of, the older man was whimpering into his arms, still curled up in a ball. Paul ran a gentle hand through his hair and shushed him, “He’s gone, darling. You’re okay.” He rested a protective hand on the other man’s back, “Can you look up for me?” He spoke sweetly.

 

John shook his head.

 

Paul cooed at him, “It’s okay, Johnny. I need to see your face, see if you’re okay.” 

 

He heard a weak sniff and John slowly moved his head up.

 

Paul instinctively raised his hands to cover his mouth in an effort to stifle the cry that sought to escape him.

 

John’s right eye was swollen, his forehead was bleeding along with his nose, which looked broken. His lip was split in three different spots and one of his teeth was chipped. 

 

“That bad, huh?” He rasped.

 

Paul chose not to answer and he helped John sit ups a bit straighter, continuing to examine his body. He was mildly bruised all over, but he knew time would make the bruises worse. He felt around his rib cage and sighed in relief as he didn’t feel any of them broken. But John has been protecting them with his arms, and those were busted. His left wrist appeared to be fractured and his index finger was definitely broken. His right arm wasn’t daring much better, with his palm and forearm scraped and bloody. His legs were mostly okay, but his right ankle was sprained. 

 

Overall, John was a mess. He needed medical attention and wasn’t likely to get it. That is, unless Paul went to Samuel and begged. Beg and...whatever else was necessary.

 

But first, Paul led John to the mattress and laid him down. John had his eyes firmly closed, but he still managed a thin and weak smirk. “At least they didn’t tie us up again.”

 

Paul chuckled, “Yeah, at least that.”

 

John shifted slightly and then whimpered in response. 

 

Paul went to talk but a harsh sneeze interrupted him, followed by another, and another. He groaned afterwards and held his head. He felt weak, tired, and cold. His fingertips were blue and he looked pale. 

 

John frowned up at him, concerned. Paul needed medical attention and wasn’t likely to get it anytime soon. What could he do to help him? 

 

Paul saw his concern and forced a smile. “I’m alright, Johnny.” He laid John down on his lap and started brushing his hair, “Sleep, darling. I’ll be here.”

 

John breathed in Paul’s familiar and comforting scent and closed his eyes. Everything hurt and he wasn’t interested in staying awake. The pain, for the moment, outweighed his concern for Paul. Soon, he was deep asleep.

 

How he would regret it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a review, eh mateys?


	4. And Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah both my boys suffer in this chapter... this is kinda short im sorry but a lot happens yay
> 
> Warnings:   
> Forced eating (Sort of)

The moment Paul was sure that John would not wake up, he stood up and went over to the hatch. He couldn’t reach it...but he could throw something at it. So he reached down to take off one of his shoes, shivering and sniffing as his sock touched the cold cement, and launched it at the hatch.

 

A bang echoed throughout the basement and Paul snapped his head to look a John, but the older man remained asleep. Another bad sign, John had always been a light sleeper.

 

He picked up the shoe and tried again. And again. And again and again until there was a responding bang. 

 

“What do you want!?” Came Larry’s annoyed voice.

 

Paul steeled himself. “I want to speak with Samuel.” Was his answer. 

 

“No.” 

 

“ _ Please _ .” Paul begged.

 

There was the distinct sound of footsteps walking away and Paul groaned, burying his face in his hands. 

 

But a few minutes after, the hatch opened and the ladder was dropped. “Come on up.”

 

Paul did as told, shivering violently at the temperature of the cabin. Larry was sporting a thick jacket, while Paul wore nothing but a thin button up that didn’t go the whole way up. Why couldn’t he just dress normally to the studio? 

 

Larry grabbed his arm in a painful grip and dragged him to the same room where Paul had been electrocuted. He tensed involuntarily. Samuel was leaning back on a leather couch reading an old book. 

 

Larry threw Paul to the floor, the singer kneeling in front of the couch as if it were a throne.

 

Without looking up from his reading, Samuel said, “Yes?” 

 

Paul swallowed and spoke, “John needs treatment, medical treatment.”

 

Not yet looking at Paul, the old man shrugged. “And?”

 

Paul gaped, “He’s hurt!”

 

A distracted chuckle escaped the man, “Why should I care? As long as he’s alive, he’s useful.”

 

Paul shook his head, “He’s in pain, he’s got broken bones. Please, he needs a doctor.”

 

“I don’t think so, now if that’s all-“

 

Paul slapped away Larry’s hands and stood up, “I’ll do anything.”

 

There was a pause and Samuel finally looked up with calculating eyes.

 

Paul widened his eyes, “Please.”

 

Samuel stood up and walked towards Paul quietly.

 

Paul stepped away from him but only ended up backing himself against a wall. He winced as Samuel took his chin in hand and examined him. 

 

Then, “You hungry?”

 

Paul frowned, “No, I-“ His chin was squeezed and Samuel scowled. “-Yes.”

 

Samuel let go of him and patted his cheek, “Good.” He grabbed Paul’s arm and led him from the room into a cramped dining room with a kitchenette. 

 

Paul wrinkled his nose as the distinctive smell of meat reached his nostrils. He very much hoped that Samuel would not serve him this. 

 

The man sat him down and harshly pushed his chair in. “Stay.” He ordered and walked towards the kitchenette, with Larry keeping watch.

 

A few tense minutes passed, but soon enough Samuel slammed down a plate of cold meat and spaghetti in front of Paul. “Eat.” He snarled. 

 

But the singer only wrinkled his nose in response. “I’m vegetarian.” He declared proudly, no situation could make him betray himself and Linda like that. Besides, he didn’t believe that this was what Samual really wanted of him. 

 

The old man grasped his head and held his face close to the meat, “I said,  _ eat _ .”

 

Paul hissed in pain but held his resolve, “I said no.”

 

Samuel abruptly let go of his head and chuckled. “Just for that,” He started and turned to Larry, “Get the hippie!” Then he took hold of Paul’s arms and held them behind the chair as he reached for the roll of tape. 

 

Paul kicked his legs, “No, wait!”

 

Once Paul’s arms were held painfully behind his back against the chair, Samuel reached down and grabbed one kicking leg, bending it to tie it against one of the legs of the chair. Then he did the same with the other. Paul was completely immobilized. 

 

And the John that Larry dragged in wan’t faring much better. The young man was dragging him by the hair, with his wrists and ankles tied together. He also had a piece of tape over his mouth, which became apparent when Larry shook him in Samuel’s direction. “Fucker tried to bite me!” He complained and threw the injured man to the floor. 

 

Paul’s partner raised his head and his healthy eye widened when he spotted Paul’s situation, the younger man equally concerned for him. 

 

Samuel walked towards his defeated figure and scoffed in Paul’s direction. “You want him to get help? Eat. You don’t wanna eat?” He whipped out his gun and pointed it straight at John, “I’ll add to his suffering. He won’t die, but he’ll hurt.”

 

Despite this threat, John still shook his head at Paul.  _ Don’t do it _ , he said with his gaze,  _ it’s okay. _

 

Paul didn’t look away from that look, “I-”

 

The gun was cocked. 

 

“I can’t!” Paul pleaded to Samuel, “My hands-” And he shut up, realizing exactly what the man expected him to do.

 

Said man only raised an eyebrow, while John tilted his head at his friend. 

 

Paul shut his eyes with an agonized expression. After a few moments, he slowly started to lower his head towards the plate. Not only was he being forced to eat meat, he would have to eat it like a dog in front of his closest friend. The man he loved. He was doing this for John, Paul told himself. 

 

Finally understanding, John started to scream behind the tape, but Samuel hit him with the butt of the gun and he fell to the floor in a daze.

 

Paul forced himself to eat like a dog, the smell of the meat toxic to his nose. His long hair fell about his face and got dirty with spaghetti sauce. The meat was disgusting. After a decade of renouncing animal eating, it seemed to him like he was eating poison.

 

Samuel was petting his head. “That’s it,” He said, “Good boy.”

 

After a few painful minutes, Paul leaned back with wet eyes.

 

Samuel’s hand stopped moving and he looked down at the singer. “Keep going.” He ordered.

 

Paul shook his head weakly, then groaned as his face was pushed into the plate. 

 

“ _ Finish it _ .” The old man hissed and cocked his gun.

 

A tear fell from his left eye as Paul leaned down to do as instructed. After too long a time, the food was gone. He’d never felt more disgusting. He’d betrayed Linda, betrayed himself. 

 

Samuel patted his head, “Good job, pretty boy.”

 

Paul looked up at him, eyes imploring. “Please, help John.”

 

There was no immediate answer and Paul feared that it all would have been for nothing, but eventually Samuel nodded at him. 

 

“A deal is a deal.” He said, then turned to Larry. “Take Paulie-“ The singer flinched “-back down, eh?”

 

Larry aggressively untied Paul and dragged him from the room, the other man too nauseous to put up much of a fight.

 

Samuel turned to the other singer, who was trying to push himself off the ground but found himself too weak to do so. 

 

“Now,” The old man said with a cruel grin, “Let’s see about helping you out, huh?”

 

* * *

Paul has vomited in a corner the moment the hatch had closed. It would add to the horrid smell of the basement but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He felt gross and sullied, not only physically but mentally as well. He had no water to wash his face or rinse his mouth out. 

 

Paul crawled to the mattress and curled up, hugging himself. Please let John be okay, he thought. Please.

 

An hour later, the hatch opened and Larry came down with an unusually subdued John. He threw the man to the ground and, after shooting a smirk in Paul’s direction, left. 

 

Paul crawled to John, calling his name softly. From what he could see, John  _ had _ been treated. There were bandages, splints, and gauzes all over him. “Oh Johnny…” At least his body would heal well now. 

 

He heard a muffled hum and frowned. He went to lift John’s head and gasped when, instead of feeling a stubbles chin, felt something hard and smooth. He raised his partner’s head and let out a dismayed cry.

 

They’d muzzled him! They’d muzzled his Johnny. The black muzzle covered all of his chin and nose, with only his eyes and forehead being visible. John’s had also been treated and looked slightly better, but the younger man couldn’t focus on that. He tried to take it off but John moved his head to show Paul the lock. 

 

The only thing left to do was hold John, hold him tight in an effort to give him comfort in this humiliating and painful situation. 

 

John hummed as he buried his face in Paul’s neck and practically sat in his partner’s lap.

 

“You’ll be okay, darling.” Paul promised. “We’ll be okay.”

 

If only.

* * *

A package had arrived and Ringo didn’t want to know what was inside. He was at the Dakota, currently playing with his rings as he sat in one of the chairs in Yoko’s office. George Martin was resting in John’s flat after having a slight panic attack after finding out that John hadn’t actually walked off in anger, but had been kidnapped. 

 

Yoko was looking at the package, trepidation in her usually cool eyes. 

 

“Are you sure it’s from them?” Richard asked.

 

She nodded, “Same handwriting on the package.” At last, she sighed and unwrapped the damned thing.

 

_ Oh. _

 

Ringo knew he hadn’t wanted to see what was inside. He  _ knew _ it.

 

Yoko had shut her eyes the moment she laid her eyes upon it and only opened them once she had turned away.

 

Because right there in front of her was a large jar full of blood.

 

John’s blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment, (but dont be rude lol. I know i dont update super fast but *shrugs* doesnt mean you have a right to judge me for it)
> 
> Hope you liked it !


	5. For him? Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys. yay an update.   
> So there's nothing graphic (nor will there be) in this chapter, but it is dark. Paul suffers. I changed the tags accordingly  
> Warnings:  
> non con touching  
> non con kissing  
> implied non con oral sex  
> violence
> 
> if you are triggered by this, PLEASE DONT READ. the rest of the story shoudnt be this dark. i guess i was having a dark mood when I wrote this......  
> also id like to say that there are views expressed in the chapter that i don't necessarily agreed with. the characters are all in a weird head space, as u can imagine. 8C  
> a paul focused chapter.   
> i hope you like it? please? thank you.

John had always been afraid of being silenced. Teachers had struck him for his sharp tongue, crooks beat him black and blue for his taunts, snobs threatened to have him muzzled...and now he was. His voice was gone. He was nothing but a dog now.

 

He’d always relied on his words to bite and protect. He wasn’t the best fighter, Skin too delicate and bones too brittle for that. But his wit was the sharpest around. Their captors knew that, and so they’d taken it from him. 

 

Paul, trying to comfort him, pet him gently and whispered kind words. It was useless, though John appreciated his efforts.

 

Bread had been thrown down an hour ago, just one loaf. Paul hadn’t had the strength to eat it, not in front of John and definitely not after being forced to eat meat like a dog. He shuddered just thinking about it. If he went back to Samuel for John, would he be forced to eat again? Or would the old man want Paul to do...something else? 

 

Paul wasn’t new to harassment over his looks. Classmates would jeer at him, creeps in Hamburg tried to have their way with him, snobs laughed behind his back, and interviewers mocked him when they had the chance. John himself had joined them on occasion. He’d hated his face for a long time; hated his doe eyes and arched eyebrows highlighting his abnormally long eyelashes. His mouth was too plump, his chin too soft. The only times when Paul had loved his face was when John had held it in his hands and called it beautiful. 

 

Paul’s beauty had always been his greatest asset and his greatest weakness. 

 

He’d longed to be like John for years, macho looking and rough. But then John had opened up to him, and to the world, little by little. John was a feminine person, if they had to pick a word. All throughout his youth he’d choked that side down and tried to drown it, but it escaped occasionally until he didn’t care to give a damn. The way he crossed his legs, how daintily he raised his hands when he was happy, the fluttering of his eyelashes when he was flustered, his walk when he didn’t have a show to put on...Yes, John was beautiful and soft- but he could hide that side all he wanted.

 

Paul, for all his mannerisms, would always be the first to be pointed out as feminine, the ‘pretty boy’ or ‘princess.’ He’d grown mustaches and beards to hide behind, but it didn’t seem to matter. Society had deemed him the princess to John’s macho knight. If only they knew, it was all bullshit. 

 

And now there was a new man lusting after ‘Pretty Paulie’ McCartney, except this time the bassist couldn’t just have him removed or fired. If Samuel wanted him, Paul knew he’d be taken. The notion paralyzed him with fear. The idea of Samuel even thinking if touching him was disgusting and frightening beyond imagining. 

 

But if he needed to save John…

* * *

George had gone back home as soon as he trusted Linda would be okay. He needed to gather the money and get in cash and figure out a way to hide his security men from his goddamn doorstep. Those monsters would come to his doorstep to pick up the money and George didn’t know how to calm down. Olivia has taken Dhani after George finally convinced her that he  _ had  _ to stay, so he was alone with his heavy thoughts. 

 

Which is why he picked up the phone and dialed the number of the house he knew Ringo was staying at in Monte Carlo. He curled up in an armchair as he waited for the older man to pick up and wrapped his free arm around his knees. “Come on, Richie. Pick up, pick up…”

 

The phone rang and rang until the voicemail message started. George groaned and pressed the button to record.

 

“Um, hey Richie. I need to talk to you, something- something  _ bad _ ’s happened and I don't know what to do.” His voice cracked. “Please call me back, I need...I need your-“ The end beep rang out, cutting him off. George sighed and let the phone fall next to him. “Help.” He whispered sadly to himself. 

 

And then George Harrison did something he wasn’t known for doing.

 

He cried. 

* * *

John watched over a fitfully sleeping Paul. The man was curled up a corner (Not the one where he’d vomited) shivering and whimpering with the cold. He worried for him, more than for himself. Not only was his partner sick, he was also at the mercy of that creep Samuel. It was clear to John that he was obsessed with hurting Paul and he hoped it didn’t go further than that. 

 

John was also really fucking cold, with no scarf and no coat, in a tattered shirt made of cold material, and trousers that had been cut off to make bandages and tourniquets by his captors. He could barely see and ached all over. His eyes had teared up more than once in the past hour, but he held back any sounds so as to not wake up Paul. 

 

He flinched as the hatches opened and the ladder slammed down into the cement. Larry came down, gun shoved down his pants and a roll of tape hanging from his belt. He smirked when he spotted the curled up bassist, who’d startled awake at his loud sounds. 

 

“Come over here, pretty boy.” Larry cooed mockingly. “My uncle wants to see you.”

 

Paul winced visibly and turned to face John, who widened his eyes at him. He didn’t want Paul to go, but if he resisted it would only cause him more pain.

 

Larry snapped his fingers. “Hurry up!” He exclaimed and pointed at the floor in front of him with another snap.

 

John growled behind the muzzle. Paul wasn’t some animal to summon and order around.

 

Paul wretched himself off the floor and stumbled over to the young man, hugging himself in an effort to protect himself from the cold. Larry grabbed his arm as soon as he was close enough and pushed him up the ladder without another glace in John’s direction. Paul tried to turn his head, but Larry grabbed his hair to keep him from doing so. 

 

They came up to a cold breeze running across the cabin, pushing Paul into a sneeze. Larry ignored him and took his wrist in hand, pushing them against Paul’s back and taping them together painfully tight. His injured arm was killing him. Then, after picking up the ladder and closing the hatch, he took hold of his upper arm again and dragged him away.

 

But to the singer’s surprise, he was led further down than before, past the kitchenette and living room. At the end of the dirty hallway, Larry opened a peeling door for him and pushed him in. 

 

It was a small bathroom with a dirty mirror and an even dirtier tub. Paul could see in his reflection that he was looking thin and a scraggly beard was growing on his chin. 

 

“That’ll be all for now, Larry.” Came Samuel’s haunting voice. He appeared in the doorway and nodded at his nephew to leave. The young man obeyed with a smirk. 

 

Paul pressed himself as far as he could from the doorway after Samuel entered the small bathroom. “Why am I here?” Was he going to be killed? Was he going to be-?

 

“You need a shave.” The old man stated and, almost happily, held up a glinting razor. 

 

Paul’s eyes widened. The man obviously meant to cut up Paul and gut him like a fish. What would happen to John? And Linda, his poor wife...His eyes watered against his will as he pushed back against the tiles on the wall.

 

Samuel scoffed, irritated. “None of that now.” He walked forwards and gripped Paul by his shirt collar, hauling him to the sink. “I’m not going to kill you, Paulie. What a waste that would be.” He positioned Paul against the sink and grabbed the soap. “Now be quiet while I work.” 

 

Paul was thoroughly confused. Samuel insisted on playing mind games with him, forcing the younger man to submit in odd ways. It made Paul feel helpless and he couldn’t stand it. 

 

His face was soon covered in soap and a sharp razor placed along his cheekbone. 

 

Instinctively, the bassist flinched and kicked out his foot.

 

A big mistake. 

 

In an instant, a rough hand was wrapped around his neck and the back of his head was pressed against the mirror. Paul cried out at the impact and at the increased pressure on his wrists, which were now stuck between the sink and his back. 

 

“Be still.” Samuel hissed, his yellow teeth grinding against each other. He tightened his grip around his victim’s neck and raised the razor again. 

 

Paul closed his eyes as his captor shaved him, struggling to breath as the pressure on his neck increased with every stroke of metal. Finally, he heard the clink of the razor hitting the sink for a final time and a towel was gently, scarily so, ran over his chin and cheeks. The hand on his neck moved away and he bowed with a cough. 

 

Samuel chuckled at him and grabbed his chin with wet hands. He admired Paul and licked his lips. “There, all better now.” He frowned at the state of Paul’s shirt, noticing how he trembled underneath. “You must be cold.”

 

The bassist scowled, but kept his mouth shut. He winced as his captor put an arm around his shoulders and led him from the bathroom. 

 

“Let’s see if we can find you something warmer.”

 

Samuel took him past the living room and opened a door close by. 

 

Paul took in a deep breath. 

 

It was a bedroom, messy and rustic. An opened trunk laid next to bed, with clothing flowing out. 

 

Samuel dragged him as far away from the door as possible, after locking it with a key Paul had seen him take out of a ring. The bassist kept that in mind; the key to the muzzle (and to the hatch) could be there. 

 

Samuel grabbed his bound arms and cut the tape, freeing the bruised wrists. “Strip.” He muttered as he headed towards the trunk. 

 

Paul hugged himself and glared at the man. “No.”

 

Samuel picked up a warm-looking jumper out of the pile and turned with a smirk to Paul. “Take off your clothes, pretty boy, or I’ll do it for you.”

 

And Paul knew that the man wasn’t kidding. Scowling, but afraid, he unbuttoned his shirt with shaky hands and peeled it off his skin. Immediately, the cold increased and he shivered, desperate to put it on again. 

 

“Jeans too.” Samuel told him, leaning against the wall with the jumper in hand. The creep was enjoying the show. 

 

Paul glared at him, furious at being humiliated like this. He threw his shirt to the ground and focused on his trousers. He pulled them down slowly, praying that it was all a game and nothing bad would happen. A stupid wish, but a desperate one. Finally, he was bare but for his pants, which he would not remove even if Samuel beat him like he’d beat John. 

 

Luckily (If it could be called that), the old man didn’t appear interested in that. He ran his eyes over Paul’s shivering figure, eyes hungry. After he’d had his fill, he threw the jumper at his victim with a laugh. 

 

Paul hurried to put it on, guiltily relishing on its warmness. It was too big for him, exposing his collarbones, falling halfway through his thighs, and covering his hands. But it was thick and kept the cold breezes away. Still...what about his legs?

 

Samuel seemed to read his mind as he picked up Paul’s clothes off the floor and threw them at his litter bin without care. “Be a shame to hide those sweet legs, don’t you think?”

 

Paul wanted to punch him. He wasn’t a violent person, but at the moment he wanted to grab the monster and slam his head against the floor until he shut up. Forever. But he said nothing, controlling himself for John’s sake. 

 

Samuel dug into his jacket pocket and took out a couple sip ties. He pushed at Paul’s back and forced him to sit on the lumpy bed. 

 

As the singer watched, silently fuming, Samuel tied his wrists together over the jumper so his hands were still kept warm and his bruises wouldn’t be aggravated. Samuel knew he’d hurt the man, but if Paulie obeyed him and learned, they could be happy. Samuel could be kind, he was being so right now!

 

Paul’s patience snapped when his knees were grabbed. “ _ Don’t _ .” He growled and scrambled away, standing up after nearly falling down the other side of the bed. He’d done enough! Why couldn’t this man be kind for just one second and free John without torturing Paul? He’d stood naked in front of him, let himself be shaved like a puppet, kept silent- why wasn’t it enough? 

 

Samuel smirked, “Now, now, there’s no need to be scared.”

 

“Fuck off!” Paul yelled. “I’m bloody sick of ya! You fucking monster!” 

 

His captor’s amusement vanished. “So it’s like that then.” He muttered.

 

But before he could do anything, the door burst open and Larry walked in, gun in hand. He’d kicked it open and broken the lock. 

 

Paul briefly considered running past him to try to escape, but then the gun was raised to his head and the idea vanished. He was still angry, still reckless.

 

“Everything alright in here, sir?” Larry growled.

 

Samuel merely chuckled and went over to Paul. “Of course it is. Paulie just got a little bothered.” He ran a hand from the singer’s temple to his chin. “Such a sensitive creature.”

 

Paul spat at him. 

 

The old man actually seemed shocked for a moment, but his expression soon turned furious and he backhanded the younger man hard enough that he fell against the dirty wall, banging his head. 

 

Paul’s vision wavered and he felt sick at the impact. Another hit to his head and he would get a concussion. He whimpered as he was dragged further down until he was laying completely on his back. Samuel took advantage of his painful confusion to grab his legs and sip tie his ankles. They were unnaturally squeezed, to the point that the skin began to break almost immediately. 

 

Paul felt more than saw Samuel crawl on top of him, but as much as he tried to kick his legs, they were completely still. 

 

His captor took out the knife he’d use to cut Paul’s previous restraints and held it to the man’s neck. “Now you listen to me, pet. You’re not getting out of here. You’re  _ mine _ .” He leaned down so that his nose was touching the frightened bassist’s. “I don’t give a shit how much your wife pays me, I’m never letting you go. So, for your sake and the sake of your little communist friend down there, you better learn some manners.” He pressed the knife down just enough to scratch, “You think you can do that, Paulie?”

 

A tear ran down the man’s cheek and fell to the wooden floor. He would never see his family again, never hold his daughters and play with his son again. He’d be this lunatic’s ‘pet’ until he died. If it wasn’t for John, Paul would fight back and get it all over with already. But he needed to protect him for as long as he could, as John would do for him. 

 

So Paul nodded. He closed his eyes and nodded. He stayed still as the knife was removed only to be replaced by a pair of dry, rough lips that hurt him more than that knife ever could. 

 

* * *

John was pacing the basement for what seemed like hours. He didn’t want to think about what was happening to Paul right now. Were they electrocuting him again? He hadn’t heard screams, but tons of footsteps. Why couldn't Samuel like to hurt him instead of his partner? He’d take any pain Paul was going through gladly. Anything to save Paul and get him out of this hell. 

 

When the hatch finally opened, John was horrified to see Larry come down with a bare legged Paul thrown over his shoulder like a rag doll. It became apparent that he was being held like this because his ankles were held together. 

 

Larry dropped the man to the floor too fast and too harshly, but Paul didn’t even look up. He had his hands clenched around something and was staring at it religiously. He only looked up once Larry was gone and the hatch was closed and locked again. 

 

The bassist kneeled on the cold concrete and nodded at a worried and confused John to do the same. John did so slowly, still desperate to know what had happened. Once he was in front of his partner, Paul took his head and moved his hair away so that the lock was visible. It was then that it became apparent what he was so carefully holding. 

 

He inserted the key into the lock and turned it, then gently eased the muzzle off John’s face. His partner was red and sweaty and his throat was dry and his chin ached like hell, but smiled gratefully nonetheless.

 

But then, John frowned as he took the man in.

 

Paul was not only half naked; he was also pale all over with a red face, with teary eyes and swollen lips. The man turned away as best as he could and coughed painfully. There was something in his hair, what was-oh.

 

Oh god. 

 

John couldn’t breathe for a moment and he licked his lips multiple times to try and speak. His voice was a mere whisper when he asked, “Macca, what did he do?”

 

Paul brought his legs up and tried to cover them with the jumper, without much success. He shook his head and shrugged. 

 

John moved close to him and took his bound hands in his own. “Paul, what did you do?”

 

His partner would not meet his eyes. “I got the key.” He murmured into his knees. His voice was sore. 

 

John felt himself begin to shake with fury. “What the fuck did he do to you? Where are your clothes?” He demanded to know. 

 

Paul shook just his head and began to shuffle away, but John took hold of him and held him still. 

 

“Paul-”

 

“Let me go!” His partner cried, too loud too suddenly. Paul wretched himself away and shifted as far as he could. “Why can’t you just be grateful!?”

 

John stood up, angry at their captors and at himself. “Grateful for what? Say it!” 

 

Paul slammed his hands against the hard ground. “It doesn’t matter!” He yelled angrily. “It’s  _ done _ .”

 

“ _ What the fuck happened _ ?”

 

“Nothing!” Paul cried, kneeling now. How he wished he could move and avoid John, but Samuel had made sure it was impossible. 

 

Mad beyond belief, John turned and hit the wall, crying out immediately after as furious pain overtook the appendage. “Fuck.” He muttered. He scratched his bruised face and squinted at the kneeling man. “I never asked you to, to-”

 

“You didn’t have to, you fucking prick!” Paul hissed, eyes finally spilling over. “It was understood.”

 

John scoffed, “How can you say that?” He was worked up, vision red. 

 

“I couldn’t leave you muzzled, John.” Paul said to him. “How could I? And Samuel, he offered the key to me if I-”

 

“If you what, McCartney?” John jeered. 

 

“ _If I sucked him off_!” Paul screamed at him. “If I fucking gagged on his cock!” He sobbed and tried his best to hold himself. “Is that what you want me to say, Johnny? You want to hear how I dirtied myself, _sold_ _myself_ , to save you? How I laid there and took it like some, some _whore_?” Feeling more broken than ever before, more damaged than he ever thought possible, he screamed. Paul let out a hoarse howl, filled with all his pain and fear. And when his voice gave out, he fell forwards onto his elbows and wept. He hadn’t cried as Samuel used him, hadn’t wanted to give him the satisfaction of seeing Paul McCartney cry at such abuse. But oh, how empty he’d felt. 

 

At once, the anger poured off John and he was left with nothing but guilt and pity. “Oh, Macca.” He moved towards him and kneeled (carefully, mindful of his injured legs) by his side, heart breaking as the man flinched at the proximity. “Paulie-”

 

“Do-don’t call me that.” Paul whimpered. “Please.” 

 

John would kill Samuel. Fuck peace, fuck love. That pervert had hurt the most important person in the world and he would pay the price. But first, he had to offer some sort of comfort. Keeping his hands to himself for now, John spoke. “You’re not dirty, luv. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

And rationally, Paul knew that. He knew that he had no choice but to let Samuel do what he’d done. Even if he hadn’t cared about John and denied him, the old man would have forced him anyway. He couldn’t fight him, not with a gun pointed at his head and a knife on his neck. Yet he felt responsible for it. If he’d been smarter, Larry would have never kidnapped him. If he’d behaved differently, dressed differently,  _ looked _ differently, nobody- not Samuel and no stranger on the street- would lust after him. 

 

“I know what you’re thinking.” John said to him, sounding incredibly sad. “But you have to fight this thinking, Macca. Nothing about you gives people permission to assault you.”

 

“But I-”

 

“But nothing.” John said firmly. “That bastard upstairs is a nutter, a bloody psychopath. What he did, what he made you do, is on him and him alone.” And maybe Larry, that motherfucker.

 

Paul sat back on his heels and sniffed, the cold enveloping his legs. He looked up at John, the man he’d called his saviour many times, and whispered, “I don’t believe you.” 

 

“I know.” John responded gently. “I know. But you will someday, I promise.” After all, he’d know better than most. 

 

Paul searched his old friend’s eyes, looking for some sign of disgust or disappointment. But he found only compassion. He bowed his head and choked his head, “His, his cum is on my hair.” He said shamefully. 

 

John didn’t say anything, he only grabbed his trouser leg and ripped another piece of fabric away. “May I?” He gestured at the man’s hair. 

 

After a moment, Paul nodded. 

 

John didn’t say anything as he worked, checking every strand for the disgusting substance. He cleaned the man’s hair and forehead diligently, not touching him otherwise. Finally, he leaned back and threw the fabric far away. “There.” He whispered. 

 

Paul wiped his tears away with the sleeves of the jumper and pressed the back of his right palm against the painful hickeys Samuel had marked his neck with. “Ta.” Was the only thing he managed to say. 

 

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Please, can I hold you?”

 

The other man was quiet at first. But then he shifted closer to his lover, the most important person in the world, and leaned against him. He may be stained now, but perhaps John could still love him. 

 

Warm arms enveloped him, even bandaged as they were, and gently caressed his shoulders. “It’ll be okay, luv.”

 

Paul buried his face on what was left of John’s shirt and whispered. “I hate him.” I hate him for making me hate myself, he thought.

 

“He won’t get away with this, Macca. I won’t let him.” Yes, John was resolved. Samuel would die for what he’d done. 

 

John would make sure of it. 

* * *

 

The ringing of the phone woke George up. His back hurt from his curled up position and his face was still wet from his tears. The guitarist groaned and wiped them away with his shirt. 

 

He stood up to pick up the phone that wasn’t on the floor, useless, and hesitated to pick it up. Was it a friendly call? Or was it those monsters? What if it was Paul? 

 

Quickly, George lifted the phone and held it against his ear. “Paul?”

 

“No. Sorry, lad.” Came the somber voice of Ringo Starr. “But I’ve been trying to contact him for days, where is he?”

 

George screwed his eyes shut. “He’s gone.” He choked out. “He was taken.”

 

“Oh, not him too!” Ringo cried over the phone, his voice devastated. 

 

“So you know about John.”

 

“Yes, all I got was his glasses and a letter.” Ringo explained. 

 

George leaned against the table that held the phone and asked, “Have you gathered the money?”

 

“...money?” 

 

George frowned, “We, me and Linda that is, got a tape with Paul in it. The men who took him want money.”

 

“Me and Yoko didn’t get anything. Well, other than a jar full of John’s blood.” Ringo lamented, sounding scared and worried. 

 

George pressed his palm against his mouth, aghast. What did that mean for John then? Were they not going to return him? Was he, was he already dead?

 

“Why didn’t we get anything?” Ringo muttered, more to himself than to George. 

 

The tape had said ‘When you and the other two…’ Maybe there still was hope. “Three million dollars, Richie. That’s what they want off each of us. Listen, in two days the money needs to be in your doorstep-”

 

“Two days? George, I’m in New York! I don’t have time to fly back to Monte Carlo and get the money by then.” Ringo sounded agitated and rightfully so. 

 

George bit his hand, a nervous habit of his. Shit. Maybe he could go? But then again, maybe Ringo would be given different instructions or none at all! What were they going to do?

 

What could they do but wait?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it.   
> please leave a comment.   
> or a kudo  
> or both.   
> thank you and stay safe out there! stay at home and read my fics jajajajaja....unless?

**Author's Note:**

> kudos are brilliant! And you what is even better? Comments!!! I live for comments. 
> 
> Thank you, I hope you liked it.


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